


9x16 Afterwards: Crowley's Perspectives

by Ace_Of_Spades_2014



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Of_Spades_2014/pseuds/Ace_Of_Spades_2014
Summary: After the humiliation of being addicted to human blood and having the Winchesters try and wean him off, Crowley retires to an elegant hotel where he's lost to his own thoughts about a certain green-eyed hunter.





	

Placing the Blade into the corpse, Crowley scowled at the chaos that was still waging on in his kingdom. When he had come up with the brilliant plan to give Dean Winchester a weapon that would get rid of Crowley’s number one enemy, he had idealistically imagined she’d be taken care of quickly. As it were, things were taking much too long to get settled, and Abandon still reigned most of Hell. 

What made delay of Abaddon's end worse, was that it was mostly his own fault. He had allowed himself to get hooked on human blood (Thanks to the bloody Moose), and had wasted precious time trying to get his next fix. Even now, though the Winchesters had done much in detoxing him, he could still feel the craving for humanity. More detrimental than that, he was still having... _ feelings.  _ And nothing good ever came from having those things.

Disgruntled by his own actions as of late, and of how his heart still seemed to beat unseemingly, he disappeared in a black smoke, appearing in an elegant, uptown motel in Virginia. It wasn’t as grand as he would have preferred, but at least it wasn’t a hole in the ground, and it kept him away from the traitors he had once considered minions. With Abaddon out there blackening his name, discrediting the King of Hell, and the poor lost souls of the underworld bowing to kiss her feet, Crowley had few places he could hide with the utmost certainly he would not be found out. 

He stationed himself in a satin black lounge chair, a glass of fine whiskey at the table beside him, and contemplated what needed to be done. The plan to send a crazed hunter after Abaddon with the First Blade was moving slowly, but it was still the best plan he had, and if it meant the Queen Bitch was dead in the end, he supposed he could wait a little longer. But patience had never been one of Crowley’s virtues....not that he had even virtues at all (but if he did, patience would definitely not be one of them). So it was torture having to wait on the Winchesters to his bidding, plotting and scheming in the background until everything was set in place. 

It wasn’t that much different than what he had done back when Lucifer had risen. He had been in the background then too, watching from the sidelines until the opportune moment to strike, waiting on the brothers to get their head out of the asses and defeat the Devil. 

Truthfully though, it had been easier then. Back then Crowley had been known, but he hadn’t been of high position. He’d just been the savviest Crossroads Demon, a thorn in Lilith's side, with resources no one could ever imagine. What he hadn’t had was Hell itself, for the demons had still been so lost in devotion to their lost god that they couldn’t see a powerhouse when they saw him. Back then, it had been about gaining his right as the King of Hell, manipulating the outcomes to be in his favor, which was easy when everyone and their mother figured him as a small player on the chess board. Once the Winchesters had sealed the Devil away, thrown him down the hole and locked away the key, Hell had been chaos, and Crowley had easily managed to pull it together.

Which was so much easier than having to maintain it. Because,after gaining Hell and making sure there was order, situations occurred (mainly that daft angel) that began to shake the conviction he had once had. Those of Hell looked at him, still with complete fear in their eyes, but now with an added wariness that their King could be betrayed by something supposedly holy. Then to have to deal with Leviantians and keep his demons in check so that once again the Winchesters could take care of the problem for him. The last straw was the Winchesters themselves, and their “cure” for demons, cursing him to wander around craving human blood and longing for things he hadn’t longed for since selling his soul. 

He brought his glass to his lips and closed his eyes, yearning for the good ole’ days.

Unfortunately, the glory he had won for himself was not what he envisioned when his eyes shut, but rather a green-eyed hunter. 

Squirrel had been angry when him and his brother had walked through the doors and found Crowley so high on human blood that he couldn’t function properly, but that anger had been magnificent in itself. Green eyes were emeralds aflame, sparkling with rage and blood, that the demon found alluring on too many levels. Surprisingly, that anger hadn’t lasted long, and it gave quickly a wry amusement at Crowley’s pathetic situation and then mild irritation when Crowley had been trying to steal candy from the vending machine. It wasn’t the emotions the demon was used to seeing cross the hunter’s facial expressions, at least not for such an extended amount of time, and that hadn’t almost been better than seeing the seductive fury that he was accustomed to. 

The glass of whiskey was slammed onto the table with frustration at the images that were crossing his mind. Bringing fingers to massage his temple, he silently groaned at his own patheticness. Ever since he’d obtained the slightest bit of humanity back, he couldn’t bring himself to get the hunter out of his head. 

Granted, Crowley had been attracted to the eldest Winchester for years. There was something about the beautiful green-eyed hunter that drew something from a demon of Crowley’s caliber. It was the beauty of seeing brutality and softness mixed as one. Of witnessing the strength from something so fragile. There was power in that muscled body, that was by no way offset by the soft fat that smoothed out some of those more hard edges. 

From the very beginning Crowley had been drawn to the living enigma that was Dean Winchester in all his contradictions. Even before meeting the hunter in person, handing off the Colt, he had heard and seen the brothers from afar, and had been practically mesmerized by how alive and human something so...dangerous...could be. 

There had even been a time, not too long ago when he knew the Winchesters were plotting Hell’s demise, that Crowley wished to possess the hunter for himself. After gaining his position as King, he still wanted more, as was accustomed for demons such as him. He wanted it all. Wanted all that no one else would be able to claim as theirs. Wanted to possess what no one else had been able to tame and call their own. Dean Winchester just happened to be that untamable, un-possessable thing that Crowley had set his sights on. 

It was anything romantic. That was completely ridiculous. No, Crowley wanted to possess Dean in a master breaking his toys, kind of way. Much more sadistic and pleasure than any human fancy, in his opinion. He wanted to break the hunter, watch those bright green eyes dim because Crowley had managed to destroy his world, leaving nothing by the demon himself to be in the hunter’s sphere. 

That idealistic imaginings didn’t last long. Crowley had never underestimated the Winchesters, but he had always had the dream of being the sole being who could thwart them. When he had learned of their plot to close up Hell, he had thought their plan too simple-minded, but keep his defenses up all the same. In his opinion, Dean’s determination and capability in going through with the pain of the trails, even if it were the Moose who was actually going through with them, only proved to Crowley how much of a prize the hunter was. Then, came the demon cuffs, being trapped in the barn, the Moose’s blood flowing through his veins, Abaddon’s release, and now this. Patheticness.

There was no way Dean could be possessed, Crowley amended. His own fall had been the proof of that. But that didn’t mean that Crowley didn’t still want him. 

Settled, and more at ease with the flow of his thoughts, Crowley raised his glass to his lips again. Dean would be his, one way or another. Not possessed, necessarily, but by his side. 

And that plan of action lay actually quite nicely with destroying Abaddon. 

Crowley smiled to himself. 

Abaddon dead. 

Dean Winchester forever next to him. 

Life was going to be great again. 


End file.
